


Days Like This

by Flowerparrish



Series: there'll be days like this [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Coming Out, First Time, Found Family, Gay Bucky Barnes, Gender Exploration, Gender Identity, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderqueer Bucky Barnes, Getting Together, Internalized Transphobia, Neopronouns, Nonbinary Bucky Barnes, Nonbinary Character, Other, POV Bucky Barnes, Pansexual Clint Barton, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Period-Typical Homophobia, Platonic Soulmates, Self-Discovery, Trans Clint Barton, Unrequited Crush, past Bucky/Original Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish
Summary: Steve just takes his hand, squeezing gently, and says, “I’m not into boys, Buck.”Bucky opens his mouth to say,“But I’m not a boy,”and bites back the words, because admitting thatwouldbe the worst mistake of his life.Plus, he may have come to that understanding, slowly and then all at once, that he’s not a boy. But he’s not a girl either, so what does that make him?“Right,” he says instead. “Sorry.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: there'll be days like this [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031658
Comments: 107
Kudos: 194
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	1. when everyone is up front and they're not playing tricks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ACometAppears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACometAppears/gifts).



> First: the warnings.  
> The notes make this seem like it's going to be sad but it's actually very soft and happy I promise! There's references to period-typical homophobia/transphobia but no one is ever actively queerphobic "on screen." There's also a little bit of internalized transphobia but it's more in the way of grappling with social expectations and the constructs of masculinity while coming to terms with one's own gender identity. It is possible I over-warned for this story, but I would much rather people not be upset or surprised by its contents than accidentally hurt anyone. 
> 
> Second: There is not one trans or nonbinary experience. I am writing this a little bit based on my own experience, and a little bit based on some of my close friends, and a little bit based on a lot of the stories I have read that helped me understand myself better. My goal is to provide AN authentic trans experience in this fic, but not THE authentic trans experience. 
> 
> Lastly: The first chapter of this fic makes use of neopronouns. The second chapter reverts to he/him for textual reasons that are explained. At no point is this meant to invalidate Bucky's gender, but if you feel like this might be upsetting to you, I would recommend passing this one by. 
> 
> All of that said: please enjoy! This fic IS complete at 3 chapters, and will be posting every other day.

Boys don’t like to cook. Boys don’t sew, or hem, or darn, or knit. Boys don’t arrange flowers, or pick out curtains, or watch after young children even when they aren’t asked to.

Bucky has always done all of these things.

Bucky doesn’t feel that it makes him any less of a boy.

(He does, sometimes, late at night, consider that maybe he does feel like  _ more  _ of a girl, though.

These are dangerous thoughts. He tries not to give them a foothold.)

* * *

When Bucky is ten, he meets Steve.

Physically, Steve is weak and sickly, but in spirit, he’s the most  _ boy  _ person Bucky’s ever met. He’s brave and daring and reckless, the biggest personality in any room. Bucky doesn’t understand  _ how  _ people manage to overlook him; in Bucky’s eyes, Steve takes up more space than the biggest or loudest person simply by existing.

Being around Steve makes Bucky even more aware of how much of a  _ boy  _ he isn’t, sometimes. Part of this is because Steve brings out the  _ other  _ instincts in Bucky, the ones that say  _ nurture  _ and  _ care for  _ and  _ protect. _

Bucky does not like getting in fights. But, he’ll use his strength to end Steve’s fights, and then he relaxes when he gets to patch Steve up from whatever scrape he’s gotten himself into after.

* * *

Bucky is fifteen when he makes what could be the biggest mistake of his life.

He tries to kiss Steve.

Not forcefully—Bucky doesn’t have that in him. He simply misreads a signal and leans in, and as he does, Steve’s eyes widen and he leans away.

It could be the biggest mistake of his life.

It’s not.

Steve just takes his hand, squeezing gently, and says, “I’m not into boys, Buck.”

Bucky opens his mouth to say, “ _ But I’m not a boy,”  _ and bites back the words, because admitting  _ that  _ would be the worst mistake of his life.

Plus, he may have come to that understanding, slowly and then all at once, that he’s not a boy. But he’s not a girl either, so what does that make him?

“Right,” he says instead. “Sorry.”

Steve smiles and squeezes his hand one more time before letting go.

They’re fine.

A week later, Steve sneaks Bucky into a gay bar they definitely aren’t old enough to be inside. Everyone is friendly, though, even if the barman refuses to give them any drinks with alcohol. He pours them sodas and asks Bucky and Steve why they’re here and what they’re looking for. Steve shrugs and nudges Bucky, and Bucky realizes it’s his time to talk.

His mouth feels dry, throat full of cotton, so he takes a sip of his soda and clears his throat. “I’m…” He trails off, frowning, unable to find the right words.

The barman studies him for a few moments and then nods. “Yeah. Well, come back any time. Anyone gives you trouble, I’ll take care of it.”

* * *

Bucky goes back often. Most of the time, he doesn’t tell Steve. It’s not that he doesn’t want Steve to know; it’s more that this is a place where Bucky belongs, and he isn’t ready for Steve to know all of what that entails yet. Not now. Maybe not ever.

He makes friends and starts to learn what it means to be queer. He learns how to go on dates with women as a cover, how to be charming and sweet and how to explain away wanting to stay chaste. He puts on lipstick with the help of a transgender woman named Lily, her own lipstick a pale blue against her dark skin that’s dazzlingly gorgeous. Bucky tells her that if he was ever gonna kiss a girl, it would have to be her, and she laughs and drags him to a back corner table and helps him do the rest of his makeup.

When he’s done, she shows him his face in a mirror, and his breath catches. His eyes pop and his lips are stained a dark red, his cheeks pink like he’s flushed from running. It’s not much—he’s seen the ladies do their makeup in much more elaborate ways—but it feels like  _ everything  _ in this moment.

He thinks that maybe here, at sixteen years old, he’s seeing himself for the first time.

“Lovely, darling,” Lily tells him, and he grins, dazzling and dazzled.

She drags him up to dance to a slow song, and for the first time since he can remember he doesn’t feel  _ different  _ in a way that’s wrong. He feels like he belongs here. He feels at home.

* * *

Bucky kisses a boy for the first time when he’s seventeen. A young soldier, only eighteen himself, comes into the bar one night. He’s here from some state in the Midwest; Bucky can tell by his accent, but he doesn’t ask—he knows better than to prompt for personal or identifying information when he’s here.

They don’t go much farther than kissing in a shadowy corner, both of them young and inexperienced, but it sets Bucky’s blood alight the way kissing girls never has.

Lily and another of their friends, Bobby, laugh and buy him an  _ actual  _ drink to celebrate.

* * *

It’s a few months later that Bucky admits, first to Lily and shortly thereafter to the rest of their friends, that he doesn’t feel like a boy. “’M not a girl either, though,” he’s quick to tell them. It’s not that he has a problem with women; he now counts plenty of women as some of his best friends.

But… well. “So what am I?” he asks eventually.

Lily shrugs. “You’re you. The rest is just how you explain it.”

Well, when she puts it like that, it sounds  _ simple. _

He’s Bucky. He wants to paint his nails but he can’t; he likes the color pink but pretends he doesn’t when he’s outside these walls; he’s learned how to do his makeup from his lady friends who can teach him ways to make his jawline appear less sharp and angular, make his cheeks look softer and fuller. An illusory effect, but one that feels  _ good. _

He also grows a short, scruffy beard when he’s eighteen just because he can, because he likes the way it feels against his fingertips and the way it makes him look in the mirror.

He’s not a girl and he’s not a boy; he’s both and neither, somewhere in between.

He’s Bucky. That’s the important part.

* * *

A new girl starts coming around when Bucky’s nineteen. She introduces herself as Nancy, though her real name’s anyone’s guess. For his part, Bucky goes by Jamie, having had enough sense not to give his very unique nickname but not enough sense to go by any name other than his given. The nickname came later, after he Lily got him drunk a week after his eighteenth birthday and he admitted he hates the way everything down to his name marks him as a boy. Some days it’s just a tiny bit unsettling, an itch beneath his skin, but some days it feels like knives instead, digging deeper every time someone calls him by it.

So she asks him if she can call him Jamie. Both boy and girl, and neither at the same time.

Perfect for him.

He nods, and then he cries, and she mops up his tears and makes him drink water before sending him out to dance with pretty boys.

He fucking loves her.

He’s skittish around Nancy at first; it’s Brooklyn, so there’s often new people, but rarely new  _ regulars. _

One day, she turns up at his shoulder when he’s leaning against the bar, skirt just a little too short for propriety and lips painted vivid pink. “Buy you a drink?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

She laughs. “If you like.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll buy you a drink if you tell me why you’re always watching me.”

She shrugs. “Okay. Whiskey, neat.”

He buys her drink along with his next one and, fuck, it’ll have to be his last if he wants to be able to afford those new pencils Steve was eyeing in the shop come Christmas.

“So?” he prompts.

She tosses the drink back and lowers the glass, grinning at him over the rim. “You’re like me.”

He frowns. “In what way?” They all have  _ something  _ in common; they’re here, after all. But he can’t see what they have in common other than the obvious.

“You’re not a boy.”

Bucky tilts his head. He hasn’t told her, and none of the others would have. His friends are firm believers in being discrete. “How d’you figure?”

“You’re not a girl either,” she says, talking over him. “Not like Lily.”

“No,” he agrees.

“Well. Me too.”

He studies her, looking for the lie. He’s never known how to read her, but she looks open in this moment. For all her cocksure confidence, there’s a little pull between her brows that gives away her anxiety, a slight turn at the corner of her lips that does the same.

“Okay,” he says. “Why don’t you buy  _ me  _ a drink and tell me all about it?”

* * *

Bucky and Nancy don’t date. Or, well, they absolutely  _ do.  _ They’re the cutest couple anyone’s ever seen, and Bucky’s mom is so happy he’s “settling down with a nice girl,” and they laugh about it behind closed doors because they’re fooling everyone with their act.

She goes to the library on her days off from work as a seamstress and reads every book she can find on  _ their  _ history. It’s not a lot, but she’s a whiz, so fucking smart it sets Bucky’s head spinning, and she finds what she can.

Amongst what she finds are discussions of gender-neutral pronouns. The oldest example she finds is “thon,” but it’s a hundred years old and Bucky’s not very excited about being called “that one” even in a simplified form. But she finds a few more, and while all of them feel foreign, Bucky settles on “e” because it’s simple, easy, and takes all the gender out of the equation.

So behind closed doors or amongst their friends at the bar, Bucky’s pronouns are e/em, and Nancy’s pronouns are they/them. Bucky’s not uneducated and e’s pretty sure that “they” is supposed to be plural, but when e asks, Nancy pulls out a handful of examples of “they” as singular. It’s strange, but e supposes their refusal to fit into the binary gender everyone else seems so attached to is also weird to people who aren’t them, so e gets used to it. And then it’s no longer strange at all; it’s just Nancy’s pronouns, same as any other person’s.

E’s not in love with them. They kiss sometimes, and it’s fine. They kiss other people, and that’s better.

Bucky thinks e will probably end up marrying Nancy, though, because how is e ever going to find someone else who understands this part of em? E won’t, pure and simple.

So e buys a ring.

Before e can give it to them, war breaks out, and Bucky’s called to fight because, in the eyes of the government, e’s still a man, and this is a man’s duty.

“You’d better fucking come back to me,” they tell em, and they kiss em fiercely.

The two of them have sex for the first time two nights before e leaves. It’s not Bucky’s first time, and e doubts it will be eir last. It is significant, though.

They’re not in love. But they do  _ love  _ each other, and they show each other in each press of their bodies together until they each tumble over the edge, left pressed together and shaking in the sheets of Nancy’s bed.

“Love you,” e tells them, and knows they hear it exactly as it’s meant.

“Come back,” they say again. An  _ I love you, too.  _ But also a  _ goodbye. _

* * *

When Bucky decides to forgo the opportunity to maybe, blissfully, be sent home so that instead e can “follow Captain America into the jaws of death” or whatever the fuck, it’s because e has never been able to do anything less than have Steve’s back. Steve may be bigger now, but he’s still Bucky’s basically-brother who could never back down from a fight. Bucky is under no illusions that e can get Steve to back down either, but it’s long been eir job to finish Steve’s fights when he gets in over his head, and e’s not going to stop  _ now. _

What e carefully doesn’t think about is what will happen when e gets in over  _ eir  _ head.

But, like all things in Bucky’s life that e tries to not acknowledge, it catches up with em anyway. Falling from the train, Bucky expects eir life to flash before eir eyes. Instead, all e sees is Steve’s horrified face as e fell, and all e hears is the echo of Nancy’s furious demand:  _ come back. _

_ I’m sorry,  _ e tells them both, and then there’s nothing, just darkness and silence and cold.


	2. when it's nobody's business the way that you want to live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I would update in 2 days and I made it like 1.5 days so that's basically the same thing, right? 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Recovery post having his brain wiped for seventy years, post nearly killing his best friend, is a messy process.

In some ways, it would be easier if everyone just told him what he needed to be, so that he could just do that and never have to think about all the minutiae that comes with  _ being a person. _

__

When he’s on the run, he learns quickly that with long hair and feminine clothes, he sometimes gets called “ma’am” instead of “sir.” It sends a little thrill through him, probably because he’s even harder to pin down now.

He keeps buying clothes, finds that he likes the ones that are soft and pastel.

So when he shows up at Avengers Tower, he brings them. They’re his; he likes them; why would he leave them behind?

The first morning he shows up to breakfast with his hair in a bun and pastel hoodie that stops at the base of his rib cage, leaving his abdomen bare, it is a statement. He is communicating to these people that he trusts them enough to expose vulnerable skin—that he understands they will not use weaknesses against him.

It comes off as a statement…but not the one he intends.

Tony’s brow furrows as Bucky walks in, and he hesitates, confused, on his way to the coffee. It has taken extensive trial and error to learn how he enjoys the bitter drink; Steve had remembered the way Bucky used to take his coffee, but either they were too poor to afford as much milk and sugar as was needed to make it better—likely, from what Bucky has read in their biographies—or his tastes have changed. Either way, he now takes his coffee light brown with three spoons of sugar.

Every time Barton sees him make a cup, he grimaces and asks, “Do you want some coffee with your milk?”

Bucky understands that this is sarcasm. He replies, deadpan, “Yes, that is why I put it in there.”

Barton cackles, and Steve groans and asks, “Why is it that the first thing you had to remember is how to be an asshole?”

Bucky preens. He is an asshole. Luckily, these people are too. He will, as Sam says, “fit right in.”

Or so he thinks, until this moment. At this moment, he can feel eyes on him, but when he turns to look they pretend to appear busy.

Barton is an exception; he’s half-asleep and breathing in the steam from his own coffee. Romanov, Steve, Bruce, and Tony have had their eyes on him, though.

He takes a seat at the table, next to Steve and across from Barton. “What?” he whispers to Steve.

Steve clears his throat. “That’s a girl’s shirt, Buck.”

Romanov casts Steve a disapproving glance. “Clothes aren’t inherently gendered,” she tells him. But she’s still trying to dissect Bucky with her eyes, so clearly she’s wondering  _ something. _

Bucky looks down at the cropped sweatshirt. “So I shouldn’t wear it?”

Steve looks out of his element.  _ Me fucking too,  _ Bucky thinks, but his sympathy is minimal. They’re the ones who made this a Thing. They can tell him what he should do about it.

“Do you like it?”

His head snaps up. Barton’s eyes are on him, gaze intense. Pre-coffee Barton has two modes, but Bucky has never seen this one before. Fixated, Romanov has called it. “Yes.”

“Then wear it. Who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks?”

This is sound advice. Bucky considers it for a moment and inclines his head in a brief nod of acceptance.

Barton goes back to inhaling his coffee.

Bucky takes his own sip.

It’s perfect.

* * *

Steve tries to apologize to Bucky, but he doesn’t want that. For one, Steve looks upset, and for another, he doesn’t have the kind of words necessary for this conversation.

He cuts Steve’s apology off with a question instead. “Am I gay?”

Steve blinks. “Uh. What?”

Bucky huffs. It is not a hard question. “Did I used to have sex with men?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says slowly after a moment. “Do you remember that?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No.” Or, well, he has dreams sometimes, but they’re hazy and indistinct and simply leave him hard and aching in the morning. When he takes care of it, though, he thinks of one thing and one thing only.

“So…?” Steve prompts gently.

Bucky shrugs. “Just wondering.”

“…right.” Steve does not appear convinced.

No matter.

* * *

Bucky did not have frequent sexual urges during his time as the Soldier; when he considers this, he thinks it is because he spent so long frozen that it got down into the marrow of his bones. That when they took everything away from him, he forgot how to want others, and there was no heat left in his body to remind him.

It took him months to relearn this part of himself.

In those early months, before he came to Avengers Tower, he didn’t think of anyone in particular. He simply felt, and it was enough.

Now, though, he thinks of men. Or, well, not  _ men— _ one man. Barton.

It began the first time he saw Barton shooting in person. He’d seen footage of old fights, of course, back when he was researching all of the Avengers. Somehow, the fantastical feats on video had seemed less real, one step removed with time and a screen between them and reality.

Here, though, Barton is nothing short of beautiful. His muscles shift under his skin as he draws the bow back, displaying a strength that surpasses many unenhanced people Bucky has met. He finds his eyes drawn to the play of muscles as Barton shoots over time, forgetting to watch as the errors thud into increasingly improbable targets that Romanov calls for him.

Barton is sweating by the time he finishes, and Bucky feels…  _ hot. _

He retreats before they can acknowledge him, hiding in the shower in the apartment he still shares with Steve to take care of his arousal. All he can think of is Barton: his arms, braced around Bucky; his hand moving in the same motions Bucky’s own is currently; his full pink lips around Bucky’s cock—and he comes at the thought, biting back a cry.

So.

It is… He does not know what it is.

It is something he intends to figure out.

He adds it to the pile.

* * *

Barton never wears shirts that have sleeves.

Okay, that is abject hyperbole; of course, he wears shirts with sleeves  _ sometimes. _

But rarely. And only when it snows.

It is bad for Bucky’s sanity. And his mouth, clearly, because one day Barton is slouched on a beanbag chair (which Bucky fundamentally does not understand; if it provides minimal support and leaves one sore after use, why would anyone continue to use it?) wearing sweatpants slung low on his hips and no shirt as he stares intently at the television and drives an imaginary car via the controller in his hands.

Bucky is half-watching the screen and half-watching Barton—shit, Clint, when he won at Mario Kart he said Bucky had to call him Clint—who seems oblivious to the scrutiny.

Until suddenly the game freezes and Clint tosses the controller aside. He leans back and tilts his head back to look at Bucky upside down. “What?”

“Why don’t you wear sleeves?” Bucky asks without thinking about it.

Clint frowns, but he doesn’t look angry. Just confused. “I wear sleeves.”

Bucky shrugs. He hadn’t intended to speak in the first place. He’s not going to press the topic now.

“Does it bother you?”

Bucky frowns. Nods. Clint looks upset, and he finds himself saying before he can think, “Not—it’s just distracting.”

Clint’s face turns from pinched to slack as he gazes at Bucky (still upside down). “Oh?”

Bucky shrugs. “Yes.”

“Gotta say, unless it makes you uncomfortable, I’m not inclined to stop,” Clint comments, a small twist at the corners of his lips.

“Okay.” Bucky wouldn’t ask Clint to stop any more than Clint would ask him to change how he dresses. Which, today, is in pink sweatpants with rhinestones on the ass and an oversized black hoodie. He’d gotten  _ looks  _ again from everyone but Clint. “That’s fine.”

Clint watches him for a few moments longer, and Bucky holds his gaze. Clint looks away first, rolling off of the beanbag chair to collect the controller and then settling back in to finish his game.

* * *

Over the next few months, Bucky gets hit with memories at random times. He remembers braiding his little sisters’ hair when he catches sight of Natasha braiding Thor’s; he remembers a much smaller Steve spitting out blood when he catches sight of now-Steve with a black eye; he remembers kissing Nancy on a summer day when he takes a bite out of a fresh strawberry, and his eyes widen.

He holes up in his room and takes some time to deal with the deluge of memories that thinking of Nancy unlocks.

He googles them and discovers that they led a quiet life. They had a roommate, according to census data, all the way through their old age.

_ Good for you,  _ Bucky thinks.

They passed away fifteen years ago. He hopes they were happy.

But they’re gone now, and all he’s left with is the memories, of them but also of  _ himself.  _ Or… eirself?

The pronouns feel as foreign now as they did when Bucky first adopted them. He decides not to use them yet. “He” has felt wrong for so long, but he always assumed it was because he’d spent so long being told he wasn’t a person. 

Now, he isn’t sure. But he isn’t ready for any big changes yet, either, or to tell anyone about this until he’s had some time to adjust to what it might mean.

Pronouns can come later. For now… the rest of it. 

Bucky shuts down his tablet for the night and crawls into bed at six pm, skipping dinner and staring at the ceiling for hours as he pretends to sleep.

* * *

He ghosts through the next few days until suddenly Clint and Nat are approaching him. He’s sitting on the couch, staring at the TV and unsure what’s even on. It takes him a few seconds of watching to realize it’s that modelling competition show, which, okay, there could be worse content to be mindlessly absorbing. At least fashion is somewhat fascinating (in a completely bizarre way).

“Uh…” he says when the terrifying duo approach. “What?”

They glance at each other, the kind of weighted look that speaks volumes without saying a word. He can remember a time when he and Steve were like that; they aren’t back to it yet, but every day they get closer.

He’s lost in his head once more and almost misses it when Natasha speaks. “It’s Pride soon.”

“Pride?”

She nods. “Gay Pride.”

“Oh.” He opens his mouth and then shuts it. He hasn’t made a secret of his attraction to men; he’d all but admitted it to Clint.

In the light of the new stuff he’s remembering, the bar, his old friends,  _ Lily, Nancy,  _ the way he’d once tried to kiss Steve… “Okay?”

They glance at each other once more. This time, Clint opens his mouth. “Would you like to come with us?”

He tilts his head. “Why?”

Clint shrugs. “It’s a tradition. We like to celebrate the opportunity to be our real selves. You’re welcome to join us.”

Bucky has overheard that the others do things, too. Sam speaks about Pride parades he attended with his former partner, Riley, in the wake of DADT being repealed. Tony talks about how he likes to personally plan the Stark Industries float for the parade, and how he and Pepper attend every year. Thor enjoys the spectacle and the sentiment both; he proudly proclaims that he has “lain with another man but few times, yet heartily enjoyed each occasion.”

Steve has recently come out as bisexual, blushing and refusing to meet Bucky’s gaze.

That’s okay. Bucky knew. Past-him probably didn’t, but he’s not sure past-Steve had come to terms with this either. But in the present? Well. He’s seen how Steve looks at Sam.

He finds he’s not angry. His eyes are trained elsewhere nowadays, anyway.

Clint and Natasha talk about Pride, but they never invite others to join in on their plans. “Why?” Bucky finds himself asking.

“Because you would understand.”

Bucky considers that reasoning. “Okay. Yeah. I’d like that.”

Clint brightens noticeably, and Natasha rolls her eyes and nudges him, but he can see the small upturn of her lips. “Great!” Clint says brightly.

“But…” Bucky starts, and then he pauses. “There’s a lot I don’t know.”

They nod. “Clint taught me,” Nat tells him gently. “We can teach you, too.”

All at once, he relaxes. He doesn’t know if they could ever  _ understand,  _ but he has an instinct that they’ll come closer than the others may. “Thank you.”

Natasha nods and then leaves as silently as she’d approached.

Clint lingers. He takes a seat by Bucky and fidgets with the seam of his shorts. “I want to tell you something.”

Bucky nods. “Alright.”

“I’m transgender. Do you know what that means?”

Bucky is startled. “Of course,” he says immediately. “I…” He trails off. But then he forces his mouth back open again. “I had a friend once who was transgender. A couple, really, but this friend--Lily--was the best woman I’ve ever known by far.”

Clint relaxes a little next to him. “Cool. Good. If you have any questions about, I don’t know, how things have changed since then, you can ask.”

Bucky shrugs. “None of my business, really,” he replies. “You can say whatever you like, but you don’t owe me shit.”

Clint grins. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” They’re quiet for a moment, just looking at each other, a small flush on Clint’s cheeks. “Same,” he says after a moment. “You can tell me anything you like.”

Bucky believes him. “Soon,” he says. “When I’m ready.”

“And not a moment sooner,” Clint agrees. “Hey, if you want me to do Pride makeup for you, just let me know. I’ve gotten pretty good at doing other people’s over the years. Just give me colors and I’ll go wild.”

Warmth suffuses Bucky at the offer. “Pink,” he says immediately. “And purple.”

Clint nods. “And glitter?”

“Definitely.”

“You got it, Buck.” He reaches out to squeeze Bucky’s hands for a moment before pulling away. “Want to go out for pizza?”

“Why is it always pizza with you?”

“That’s not a no.”

It’s not a no. It is, in fact, almost always a yes. “C’mon,” Bucky says with an over-dramatic sigh. “Might as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Winterhawk Bingo Square:** No Sleeves Ever


	3. when the parts of the puzzle start to look like they fit

Bucky does his research before pride. He’s still struck by the sheer number of  _ options  _ that exist nowadays. Or, well, people were always this way, he knows that better than most, but now there’s so many  _ words  _ to explain them.

It’s dazzling.

Pride is also dazzling.

Bucky feels like he walks it in a daze, and when he gets home, he’s wrapped in a rainbow flag that he has no idea how he acquired. Somehow he lost his shirt and gained a few beaded necklaces and a pair of heart shaped sunglasses, his whole body covered in glitter that won’t be coming off for  _ days. _

Somehow, Clint ends up collapsed next to Bucky in his bed.

Bucky has his own apartment in the Tower now, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about Steve walking in and seeing them in this state.

“You’re drunk,” Bucky tells Clint, cutting off his loud singing.

Clint laughs, delighted. “Yeah.”

“I’m gonna tell you the thing,” Bucky says.

“Fuck, now?”

“Yeah. And then again in the morning, in case you don’t remember.”

“Gotcha.”

“I’m nonbinary.”

Clint throws his arms around Bucky, looping a leg over his waist. “Good for you, dude. Wait, fuck, can I call you dude? I don’t want to if you don’t like it.”

“It’s fine.” Bucky thinks it wouldn’t be from most people, but he knows Clint will  _ get it  _ in a way that makes it more okay. “Not often, but every once in a while.”

“We’re gonna talk more in the morning, when I can think,” Clint tells him happily. Then he pauses. “Well. If you want. It’s…” He waves a hand in an aimless gesture. “The stuff you said. That.”

Bucky laughs softly. “Okay. Go to sleep, Clint.”

“Kay,” Clint agrees. He snuggles against Bucky’s chest and begins to immediately snore.

It’s the best sleep Bucky’s had in months.

* * *

In the morning, Clint is hungover, so Bucky collects coffee and brings it to him in bed. Clint burrows against Bucky, seeking warmth, coffee cup cradled carefully in his palms.

Bucky waits until Clint shifts to sit on his own before he offers, “Breakfast?”

When Clint nods wordlessly, Bucky makes his way back out to the kitchen in his suite. He doesn’t cook there too often, preferring to cook on the main floor because then usually people will emerge from their hidey-holes and beg food off of him. He likes cooking  _ for  _ people, not just for himself.

He does have eggs, though, and bread for toast, and even some bacon he picked up on a whim. It’s a decent, if simple, breakfast spread.

He’ll have to get ingredients for pancakes, he thinks. Just in case.

Clint eventually emerges and joins him. He’s in a pair of Bucky’s shorts, pastel pink ones that are already booty shorts on Bucky and instead just  _ obscene  _ on Clint. “D’you mind?” he asks. “Jeans were gross after sleepin’ in ‘em.”

Bucky shrugs. “It’s fine.” It’s more than fine; it does things to his dick (and, strangely, his heart?) to see Clint in his clothes, sleep-rumpled and beautiful, hair a mess and scruff on his jaw from not having shaved for over a day.

He finishes plating the food and sets one plate in front of where Clint’s taken a seat at the bar top—Bucky can never get over how he lives in a place so fancy it has eat-in kitchens in every person’s apartment as well as what the home renovation shows call “formal” dining rooms.

Bucky’s pretty sure he has memories, hazy and indistinct as they are, of growing up and eating with a plate of food balanced on his lap while he sat on the couch ‘cause the table ran out of room to seat everyone, so. This is different.

He takes a seat next to Clint, their arms bushing as he settles, and he only realizes he’s not wearing a shirt when the touch is skin-on-skin.

The fork he’d just picked up clatters against the plate as he drops it.

“You good?” Clint asks, peering at him curiously.

“Fine,” Bucky tells him.

Clint shrugs. Bucky must be getting good at reading him, because he can tell that this shrug means Clint would press the issue, but he hasn’t had enough coffee yet.

“More coffee in the pot,” Bucky offers.

Clint immediately jumps up and beelines for it. “Thank fuck.”

Bucky tries to get himself under control before Clint returns to his seat, taking a few bites of food and watching with amusement as Clint drinks a whole cup there at the counter and pours more before coming to sit down once more.

When they’ve both finished their plates, Bucky asks Clint, “So, d’you remember last night?”

Clint chokes on a sip of coffee. It snorts unattractively out his nose. Bucky passes him a napkin and waits patiently. “What?” Clint finally demands, voice pitched a bit higher than usual.   


It takes Bucky a moment to figure out the issue, and then he laughs. “You woke up wearing your pants. Your  _ own  _ pants,” he points out. “We didn’t have sex.”

“There are plenty of things we could have done that didn’t require taking off my pants!” Clint points out, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. Bucky wants to bite it.

Wait, fuck, where did  _ that  _ thought come from?

He shoves it away and ignores the way his cheeks feel a little hot. “So, you don’t then.”

Clint shrugs. “We talked, but the details are fuzzy. You were warm. Everything was spinning. I dunno.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “Why, what am I missing?”

“I’m nonbinary.”

“Oh, shit,” Clint blurts out, looking horrified. Bucky’s hurt for a moment before Clint continues, saying, “I can’t believe you  _ came out  _ to me and I was too drunk to remember! I’m such an asshole!”

The ice that had taken over Bucky’s insides, familiar in the least pleasant of ways, thaws. “It’s fine. I knew you were drunk when I told you. I said I’d bring it up again this morning if you didn’t remember.”

“Oh. Okay.” Clint still looks a little upset, but some of the tension in his shoulders eases. “Drunk me better not have been an asshole.”

“Drunk you was not,” Bucky confirms. “You called me ‘dude’ and then asked if you shouldn’t call me that anymore because you didn’t want to upset me.”

“Sounds about right,” Clint admits. “And?”

“I said it’s fine, on occasion, but only from you.”

Clint’s brow furrows. “Only me? Why?”

“Because when you say it, it’s not because you’re calling me a boy. So it’s fine—most of the time. And I can tell you when it’s not, and you’ll understand.”

Clint nods. “Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“You said we should talk more about it this morning,” Bucky relays. “Which would be good, because I don’t really know where to start.”

Clint hums thoughtfully. “Why not at the beginning? Just start there and share what you want. Skip over what you don’t want.”

_ This  _ is why Bucky likes talking to Clint. For a walking disaster, he’s remarkably good at putting things into perspective. There’s more to his moniker than just good eyesight, and Bucky thinks people forget that sometimes.

“Right.” He starts to talk. At some point, Clint brews a fresh pot of coffee and refills their cups. Bucky talks more now than he’s talked in as long as he can really, truly remember. He tells Clint things no one alive knows about him, including Steve.

And Clint listens. He nods along and hums at appropriate moments, bursts out with “hell yeah!”s and “shit really?”s at appropriate places, asks for clarification when he gets confused because Bucky’s tangled thoughts leave out important details, and makes connections between stories that show he’s paying attention.

It feels so fucking good, the sharing of it. He ends on, “I never thought I’d meet anyone else who would understand, and I know we’re not the same, but I’m pretty sure you get it more than most people, and that’s…” He trails off. He doesn’t know how to put how meaningful it is into words.

Clint nods again, though, eyes gentle. He gets it. Just like always.

“My turn?” he asks.

Bucky nods. “Please.” He takes a sip of coffee to sooth his tired vocal chords and settles in to listen.

Clint tells him about his childhood. About stealing his older brother’s old clothes so he had pants to wear under his dresses; about climbing trees and ripping the hems of those same dresses and skinning his knees; about how every year he’d put a skateboard on his Christmas list and his parents would get him something more “appropriate” instead. He tells Clint about Barney trying to convince their foster families that Clint was a boy and getting them both in trouble; about running away to the circus, where no one cared that Clint was a boy. Or, better, some of them cared enough to help him cut his hair short and to scrounge up old boy’s clothes that might fit him. How he’d never had less in his life, even in foster care, but he felt so at home that it didn’t matter.

He glosses over a lot of times in his life. That’s okay; Bucky doesn’t need to know things like at what age Clint started hormones or got top surgery (many nights of Googling have taught him a great deal that he wouldn’t have known before), the same way he doesn’t care what’s going on in Clint’s pants at any given moment.

Clint doesn’t share much about his adult life or his time with SHIELD. That’s okay too.

“So, yeah,” Clint finishes awkwardly. “That’s… I understand a little.”

“A lot,” Bucky amends. “It’s okay that we’re not the same. You see me.”

“I do.” Clint offers a hesitant smile. “Want to know a secret?”

“If you want to tell me.”

“I kinda suspected.”

Bucky frowns. “What gave it away? The clothes?”

“Nah. Had suspicions long before you relaxed enough to wear what you liked. It wasn’t anything you did. I just recognized something in you that felt like me.”

Bucky knows someone like Tony would make that into a sex joke. He’s almost tempted to, because it would be a great way to break through the heaviness that has settled over them like a blanket.

He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Oh. Okay.”

Then Clint says, “I like you,” and Bucky replies immediately, “I like you, too.”

“No,” Clint says. “Not—I mean, I like you, but I also want to date you. Or fuck you. Or both. Whichever. Or none, that’s cool too, I just—”

“Clint.” Clint shuts up, looking grateful that Bucky has cut off his graceless babbling. “ _ I like you, too.” _

“Oh.” Clint lights up. “Wait, really?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. And not just ‘cause you get it, although I think that’s still really important to me in a partner. But I liked Nancy enough to marry them and still didn’t really care about fucking them. I’ve always been more into men.”

Clint seems to think hard about something for a moment, before he says carefully, “You know I don’t have a penis.”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, amused. “So? You think that makes you less of a man?”

“No.” Clint’s response is immediate, sure. “But other people tend to.”

“I’m not other people, am I? I don’t give a fuck what’s in your pants. You’re a guy, and I’d like to fuck you. And date you.” He thinks back and then says, “Haven’t we kind of been dating anyway though?”

“What?”

“You know. Goin’ out for pizza. Hangin’ out. I cook you dinner sometimes, just the two of us, and I made you breakfast after you slept over in my bed last night.”

“Oh.” Clint considers. “I do those things with Nat, though.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “But you don’t want to fuck Nat.”

“Ew, no,” Clint says, scrunching up his nose. “She’s my soulmate, but I don’t love her like that.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh.” Impossibly, his grin widens. “So we’re dating?”

“So we’ve  _ been  _ dating,” Bucky corrects. “Now we’re just doing it intentionally.”

“I can get behind that.”

“I’d like to get behind  _ you,”  _ rolls unintentionally off Bucky’s tongue, and he blushes but he doesn’t take it back.

Clint’s laughter is delighted. “Any day, baby.” Then he frowns. “Is that one okay? We’re gonna have to go over what I should and shouldn’t call you, because I don’t want to fuck up.”

“Same,” Bucky agrees. “And yes, it’s fine. I like it.” He considers for a moment and then offers, “Fuck first, discuss later?”

“Race you to the bedroom.”

“What do I get if I win?”

Clint’s eyes turn mischievous. “I’ll suck your dick.”

“And if you win?”

“I’ll still suck your dick.”

Bucky laughs. “You’re on.”

Technically, Clint wins, long legs even quicker than Bucky’s enhanced body.

But really, they both win, so Bucky can’t find it in himself to be bothered in the slightest.

Clint sucks Bucky off, and then Bucky fingers Clint until he comes, and then some more until Bucky’s hard again. He fucks Clint until they both come a second time, collapsing gracelessly in the sheets afterward. Bucky has his head pillowed on Clint’s chest this time, and it’s nice to hear his steady heartbeat as it slows down to a resting rate.

“I think I could fall in love with you,” Bucky admits. What should be a scary thought is instead exhilarating and unbearably welcome; he remembers enough of who he used to be that he knows he never thought he’d have a chance at something like this, no matter how much he craved it.

Now he has a shot, and he’s determined not to fuck it up.

“I’ll probably freak out,” Clint admits. “When I do. And when you say it for real.”

“That’s okay,” Bucky assures him. “I’ll still be here.”

Clint lets out a sigh that sounds like relief. “Good.”

“It’s not all good days ahead for me either,” Bucky warns. “I can’t say when they’ll be bad, though, just that they’ll come one way or another.”

“S’okay,” Clint says. “You’re worth it.”

It’s…  _ fuck.  _ It’s everything. Bucky cries, a little, because he was always told boys aren’t supposed to and he’s seen the ad campaigns and read about toxic masculinity, he knows better these days, but it still always feels like a fuck you to everyone who tried to make him into something he wasn’t when he does it. “Thank you,” he says, meaning:  _ for everything. _

Clint hears the unspoken words, and when he says, “You’re welcome,” that’s for everything too.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Winterhawk Bingo Square:** Didn't Know They Were Dating
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been supporting this fic; I really hope you enjoyed the ending of this first installment. This part grew way larger than I expected, and it really felt like a good place to end this first part of Bucky's journey with him coming out to someone in the present day and finding the kind of relationship he'd hoped for in the past. 
> 
> That said, there will be more to come, because this story is far from over. The other Avengers didn't feature heavily in this one, and so they absolutely need their own space to shine. 
> 
> But for now: I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you thought; this fic is very near and dear to my heart and sharing it with the world was scary but ultimately super rewarding. I appreciate all of you.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Winterhawk Bingo Square Filled:** trans Bucky Barnes
> 
> Thanks to sporadic_fics for beta reading!   
> \+ gifted to Jay, whose nonbinary Bucky Barnes is now the predominant Bucky Barnes in my heart. You gotta check out Jay's art. 
> 
> Work & chapter titles from Dermot Kennedy's "Days Like This" which I listened to on repeat while writing this. It _vibes._


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